by Cate Corvin
“Belial left a lot of Overseers here,” I said, worry pinching my stomach.
Lucifer looked down and banked over the wide shelf of the Seventh Circle. I followed, wanting to avoid being in the direct line of sight of the abyss.
My sensation of being completely gut-punched increased as we crossed into the Brightside and I dropped to the street in front of Belial’s arena.
The doors were closed and locked, with broad chains spanning the frame. All of the banners were rolled up. There wasn’t a single imp climbing on the walls.
“He’s not here, Melisande.” Lucifer looked up at the empty battlements and dark lanterns.
I approached the door and pushed anyway. It didn’t give, but I hadn’t expected it to. I just wanted to be absolutely sure.
With a huff, I took to the sky and flew over the arena, finding the roof empty, and landed in Arcturus’s volcanic pasture.
The wind kicked up a veil of grit, but there was no smug, flaming horse prancing around.
Even the stables were locked up tight.
Irritation was slowly overtaking the worry. He couldn’t have even left a note?
I found my way to the back door and hammered on it, then paused and pressed my ear to the door.
It was faint, but I heard the faint scuff of footsteps.
I renewed my pounding, my shoulder aching from how hard I banged on the door, but whoever was making the footsteps didn’t open it.
Belial’s arena was locked down tight.
I drew my foot back in a moment of rage and gave it a final kick that shook it in its frame, with the tiniest shred of hope that Belial would pop out from wherever he was hiding and ask me why the fuck I was mauling his doors.
Nothing.
I released an irritated breath and turned to find Lucifer watching me, his bulky arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah. He’s not here.”
“Wherever he is, I’m sure he has a good reason for it.” Lucifer thought on what he’d just said and made a face. “Well, maybe. I don’t think Belial always takes reason into account when he does things.”
“Let’s go home,” I grumbled. “Maybe it’ll click with me later.”
Lucifer kissed my forehead before we took flight. I rose high above Dis, leaving the towers behind and glaring out at the horizon of the wastelands. Tall storm clouds rose in the distance, flashing with purple-hued lightning, and there was a brief flash of yellow light.
Lucifer hovered next to me, following my line of sight and frowning. “Come on. I don’t want you outside if it comes this way.”
I squinted at the storm, looking for another flash of that yellow light, but none came.
It was just a storm. I was looking for answers where there were none.
Feeling oddly desolate, I followed Lucifer home, wracking my brain for where he could be and coming up empty.
27
Belial
My paws sunk craters in glittering black sand as I followed the faint line of demarcation between the Starsea and the mountains.
If I kept going, I’d eventually hit the Styx. Out here in the wastes, the land was flat, but the sand concealed the danger of instability. One wrong step would ruin a warrior’s stance.
But I knew how to navigate it by heart. The terrain was my ally here, offering false comfort to the one I was prepared to call.
It was tempting to keep going, to see if I might find a hint of the way my angel had passed, but the thought of her was what kept me on course.
Physical pain lanced through my chest like a spear and I paused, switching my tail until it had passed. For her, the pain had been over quickly. She’d never accepted the mate bond for what it was.
For me, it was an omnipresent ache, sometimes growing so intense I could hardly breathe. I understood now why my fellow princes were so reluctant to create that sort of bond with someone. If the one they chose broke faith, the loss of the bond was agonizing to the creator.
I felt the agony in my bones. It lanced through me with every step, every breath.
It was worse when I was near her, accompanied by a sapping despair.
At first, the pain had sent me into a rage. I’d wanted to lash out at her, give her the same pain she gave me.
And I’d nearly succeeded in driving her away forever.
I growled as I walked, remembering the look on her face when I told her what I thought of her, the toxic lies I’d spit in her face. Never in all my eons had I regretted what my wrath would bring me.
Nothing. It brought me nothing but emptiness, a gaping hole in my chest where something had been ripped away and left a still-bleeding mess behind.
I’d re-evaluated the battlefield, examined my own weaknesses.
My first instinct was to strike back, exchange wound for wound. And all that had won me was an angel in tears, turning away from me.
If I accomplished what I planned now, she would see that my apologies weren’t hollow. I would never turn my rage on her again. She couldn’t have understood; she believed I was going to keep her caged forever.
Her strength was my weakness. I hadn’t thought she had it in her to pull a trick like that just to win her freedom; I’d mistakenly thought that once she fell for me, she understood she was already free. Pushing her into the arena had amused me at first, but the more I came to want her, the worse her enemies became, and for good reason.
If she could handle the worst I could throw at her, she’d be prepared to handle anything outside the arena walls. I wouldn’t need to fear for her life if she walked down a street in the open.
As furious as I was at the pain of a broken bond, I respected her cunning. She would make a fine demon herself.
I was nearly to the place I’d chosen when another spear of pain drove through me, the feeling of a dagger twisting in my chest. I shifted out of my leonine form, gripping my chest even though it was impossible to soothe the pain. All I could do was wait for it to pass.
If, after this, she didn’t want me, then there was nothing else I could do for it. I would give her everything she asked for as a token of my own. She didn’t want weapons, pretty clothes, or shiny rocks.
She wanted revenge.
I found the white rock that marked the place and pushed it aside, digging into the black sand beneath it. It poured over my hands like water, wanting to refill the hole, but I felt something solid and wrapped my fingers around it.
The black chains that had bound Yraceli burst through when I pulled. They puddled on the sand at my feet until I had the full length of it, almost invisible against the dark sand.
I made sure the links were loose, examining them closely for the flecks of ebonite mixed with the iron, ebonite that would hold any angel, devil, or the mixture of their blood, the Nephilim.
I strung the chain across the sand, making a large spiral, and then I tossed sand over it, burying it under an inch of glittering particles.
The wind quieted when I began drawing a large circle on the flat stretch where the chain was buried, using the point of my fiery sword to melt the glass, ensuring the circle would hold its shape.
I traced the angelic sigils, taking care to ensure every line was flawless.
It was impossible to summon an angel and bind it in the circle alone, but it would act as an amplifier, a line straight to Heaven. The sand shuddered in the circle, like it sensed its angelic nature and wanted to escape. Every grain of dirt in Hell loathed the divine.
All I needed was this amplifier, because my prey had one weakness he turned a blind eye to. When he heard me call, he’d answer.
I stepped out of the circle and smiled down at my creation. The sigils were the parts of Gabriel’s name. Linked together in the circle, they would call to him, and him alone.
If I was horrifically unfortunate, Raguel and Barachiel might answer too, but Gabriel liked to handle his matters with discretion.
I was counting on the prideful moron not bringing back-up.
I had the chains, the dagger, my sword. I
removed a gauntlet, and with a neat flick of my wrist, I sent a small silver blade jutting from my bracer and cut my palm, healing almost instantly, but several droplets of blood spattered over the glass circle.
The droplets disappeared, soaking into the glass, and it began to shimmer with pale light.
I held up my hands to the heavens, unable to hold back a smirk. “O Gabriel, Hero of the Limpdick Brigade, He of the Stunted Baby-Carrot Cock, I beseech you to grace me with the glorious presence of your walnut-sized brain.”
Several long moments passed in silence.
“He Who Has a Big Sword Because He’s Making Up for Inadequacies-”
A streak of lightning cracked across the sky, and my smirk became a wide grin.
“Gabriel, whose plans always fail because he’s more concerned with his hair than his strategy, come down.”
Lightning began to fork across the sky as the storm clouds built, heralding not a downpour, but a comet of heavenly fury.
Satan help me, but it was too easy to goad the motherfucker.
I opened my mouth to pile on a few more insults, but Gabriel had heard.
I hoped all the other angels had, too. In fact, I’d bet the rest of my remaining Circle that at least half of them agreed with me.
Knowing I’d pissed him off brightened my mood exponentially. This was going to work. It had to; I was doing it for her.
The center of the stormy sky lightened, and a blazing flash of golden fire filled the clouds as Gabriel hurtled down, landing in the middle of the circle on one knee while gripping his precious sword.
The impact shook the ground in an earthquake. A stone at the nearby base of the mountain foothills split up the middle with a crack.
“Aw, look at you.” I tucked my knife away and crossed my arms as Gabriel slowly rose to his feet, glowering. “Does it make you feel special to walk in and strike a pose?”
He was of a height with me, being one of Heaven’s princely equivalents. Blond hair so light it was silver hung to his shoulders, and golden eyes gleamed in his chiseled face. They were lit with pure hate, and his white wings quivered in rage as he folded them behind his back. A golden halo spun above his head, glowing with its own internal light.
At least he’d come alone.
“What have you called me for?” he asked, thrusting his sword in the sand so it stood upright. Gold and silver flames danced along the blade, making the sand around him sparkle. “Are you hungry for another battle?”
I gave Melisande props just for having the self-control not to stab this pompous asshole in the back.
“Oh, no, there’s a purpose, old friend.” He was wearing silver armor, the inverse of my own black-lacquered ebonite plate. “You see, I wanted to thank you.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down. “What do you have to thank me for, hellspawn?”
This was probably the only nice thing I was ever going to say to him. “For sending me such a gift.” I held up the broken remains of Melisande’s halo, giving him a good look, and tossed them into the circle. It’d taken me hours to find the buried pieces.
Gabriel knelt and picked up a piece, turning it in his fingers. A strange play of emotions crossed his face: anger, satisfaction, and even what I thought might be regret. “So she’s alive.”
“Very much so. Were you hoping otherwise?”
The archangel lowered the fragment of halo, baring his teeth. “I did not cast her out as a favor to you. The bitch deserved to fall.”
I took a second to compose myself, keep the smile on my face, even as the lion bristled beneath my skin.
“I did hope her death would come quick and painless.” The asshole was lying through his teeth; just saying those words looked like it caused him pain. “She was a good soldier.”
“And what did God think of all this? Did he believe one of his own deserved to fall for no crime?”
Gabriel’s golden eyes flickered. His face went hard, lips pulled tight. “God has left the operations of his army to me,” he said tightly. “I cast her out as was my right.”
I took a step closer, craving the taste of his blood in my teeth. “How odd, that you haven’t fallen yourself.”
The archangel went perfectly still; he might’ve been a statue carved from marble and gold. “I am nothing if not God’s servant. Never in all my years have I given Heaven cause to reject me.”
Bloody fucking hypocrite. Rage bubbled inside me, heating my veins with its welcome fire. “You know what you’ve done.”
Gabriel raised his chin and dropped the halo in the sand.
“Do you have a death wish, Prince Belial? Is that why you’ve called me here? I’m happy to answer your prayers.” He gripped the Sword of Light, and a cruel smile finally broke through his stone façade. “Overjoyed, in fact. Your death is long overdue.”
“You’ve been saying that for millennia now. What a shocking surprise you haven’t managed to deliver yet.”
I swung my sword into the guard position, letting the flames of my wrath ignite in the blade. Gabriel lifted the Sword of Light, circling me carefully. Glass shattered underfoot as we stepped on the circle, breaking it under the weight of a hundred pounds of armor.
“Just like old times,” Gabriel said, his eyes kindling with inner light. “You won’t leave this place, Belial. I’ve waited too long to do what I should’ve done long ago.”
“Once again, you show a complete lack of foresight,” I agreed.
Gabriel’s features darkened, and he swung.
The Sword of Light met my blade with a bone-rattling clang, and then I was in my native element, adrenaline flooding my veins in a tide along with the manic frenzy of bloodlust.
Time stopped; we weren’t Gabriel and Belial. Everything was so much simpler than that.
This was a battlefield, and he was the enemy, and if I didn’t see his blood spill, my purpose was null. I would paint the sand with his blood, carve my arts into his flesh, crack open his armor to the meat beneath.
The archangel took several paces back as I advanced, slashing with my sword, delivering underhanded cuts with a sharpened dagger. He was being careful, watching his uneven footing, sinking when he thought he would remain upright.
He was easy prey.
I almost lost myself to the flow of war, pulling back on the last vestiges of clarity with great effort.
I had a purpose here; the knife, the chains. I couldn’t go into a blind rage.
My silver blade caught in a chink in his armor and Gabriel jerked away, pulling it from my hand. “Your deceit won’t serve you well, Belial.” His deep voice rang through the air like a gong and he lit up, a blazing star in the middle of a vast void of nothing.
I came at him again with my sword, and Gabriel spun, a frenzy of wings and flame, and sheared right through my blade. I dropped the useless hilt.
He hadn’t looked at my left hand, the dark blade I’d pulled from my thigh. In the drip of time, I saw the perfect sliver of a second when his back was to me, his arms extended, the gap in his armor.
I punched forward with the ebonite dagger, pushing it between the plates of his armor and driving it deep into his side.
Gabriel gasped, unable to make a sound as it pierced his kidney. Hot blood sluiced over my hand when I twisted the blade. He dropped the Sword of Light, and it buried itself point-first in the sand once more.
“You… fucker,” he gritted out, veins standing out on his reddening face. I wrapped my free arm around his throat, squeezing hard as his gauntleted fingers scrabbled uselessly for purchase on my forearm.
“No, that’s you,” I whispered, pushing as much of the blade into his body as possible.
Gabriel jerked his head back, smashing me in the face with the back of his skull. Blood burst from my split lip, staining his silver hair scarlet, and he got what he wanted: the slightest loosening of my grip.
The force of a hurricane swept over me, knocking me backwards, and then Gabriel was on me, smashing his fist int
o my face. His wings spread wide, coloring the sky white, reflecting his heavenly fire back a thousand times over until I was blind.
Pain rocketed through me, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my chest.
The broken bond urged me on, begging me to repair it. She’d had faith in me. I wouldn’t die here, not today.
I reached up unseeingly and gripped whatever I could find of him, clawing his face, but his gauntlet was around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter.
I heard my spine creak, the vertebra protesting the relentless pressure that threatened to rip my head from my body.
In a last effort, I wrapped my arms around Gabriel in a bear-hug, intending to crush his armor open. My hand brushed something sticking out of him- the hilt of the ebonite dagger.
Taking it in my grip, I pulled it free as the archangel dug his fingers into my neck and split the flesh, opening my veins to paint the desert red. My other hand dug into the sand, groping for a length of the chain.
As I bled out, I struck.
Blind faith would have to be enough.
28
Melisande
Days passed.
Belial didn’t come back.
My fears weighed on me heavily, alongside my deceit. One night, four days after we’d returned and I finally had my three remaining men alone, I closed my door and locked it.
Tascius was stretched out in a chair, still sweaty from training practice. Azazel leaned next to a window, a slight frown on his face as he gazed at the garden below. Lucifer sprawled across my bed, his wings extended to their full length.
All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, and we could have a peaceful night, maybe one just like the night we’d shared in the City of Sight.
But the Visionary’s words ate at me, and compounded with my worry for Belial, I found myself feeling almost sick.
“There’s something I have to say,” I said, bracing myself for the onslaught of anger. “While we were in the City of Sight, the Visionary told me something that made me wonder if we were on the right path.”